


4 times Aziraphale didn’t dare go in the rain and 1 time he did.

by Awenna



Series: Ineffable Husbands Week 2019 [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 4+1 times, Angst, Double Drabble, Ineffable Husbands Week 2019, M/M, Rain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 16:55:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20510360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Awenna/pseuds/Awenna
Summary: It often rains in the UK. It often rains when Aziraphale thinks of Crowley, when Aziraphale wants to be with Crowley. But he tends to not dare go under the rain. Until he does.





	4 times Aziraphale didn’t dare go in the rain and 1 time he did.

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my late (for my European timezone) submission for Day 2 of the Ineffable Husbands Week with this second prompt of "Rain, Storm, Downpour" where my brain thought "You know what would be fun? Let's do double drabbles again, but this time, make it even more angsty".  
After Crowley yesterday, I present to you Aziraphale and rain. Please enjoy!

**1\. A. Fell & Co. Bookshop, sometimes in the mid-to-late twentieth century  
**

Aziraphale was sat at his desk, reading one of the many books he had in his collection. It was not one of his recent acquisitions, just one of the many books he had acquired over the years. To be completely honest, he was not really capable of saying what the book was about because he was not actually reading it. He was simply looking at the words while his brain was focusing on something else. Something completely different.

He looked up through the windows. It had been raining for quite a while now. He had heard the sound raindrops on the windowpanes. It made for a nice addition to his morose thoughts. The rain was falling and forming large puddles in the street.

Aziraphale moved slightly backward so as to rest more fully in his chair and looked towards the ceiling. He took a deep breath trying to calm his mind and looked towards the entrance where his coat was hanging.

Crowley had invited him to dinner, but he had refused. Gabriel had been more attentive in the last few years and it kept Aziraphale on edge. He did not want to take any risks that could cause Crowley harm.

**2\. Scotland, 1805**

Aziraphale was sitting at a table eating in an inn in Aberdeen. The cooks at this inn had always been very good. He was in Scotland to perform some miracles. He had been riding all over for a few months now. It had been beautiful over the summer, but now as autumn was here, the sun did not show its face that often. Not that he minded that much (although it did ruin his clothes if he did not pay constant attention to them). It was raining this instant. It was a storm. The wind was blowing hard, pushing a lot of rain inside every time someone came in through the door.

He had heard from sources that Crowley had arrived a few weeks back. He had been going around the Highlands last time he had heard. They had not met yet. He had hoped they would. He sighed. He could have searched for him directly.

He looked at his empty plate, at the counter where the alewife was serving the patrons, and at the windows and the rain behind. He sighed again. He would not, he was a coward. Only by provoking luck did he encounter Crowley, never directly.

**3\. The bandstand, one day before the End of the World  
**

Aziraphale was standing. Stuck in place. As if the world would rest on his shoulder and he was not quite sure he could hold it.

He could still see Crowley’s figure going away, further and further away, until he was no more than a dot which disappeared when he turned around the corner.

As if to further push the point, it started to rain. Aziraphale had to laugh. It was not a large laugh. It was small and did not last for long. He moved towards one of the pillars and the metallic structure beside it. He sat there, hidden from view. He had missed his chance to go after Crowley. It was too late now. The Apocalypse was tomorrow and even though he did not admit he was his friend aloud, his best friend was gone and if he did not succeed in convincing Heaven to stop, the last time he would have seen him would have been now, on an argument.

He wanted to cry. But angels did not cry. Or rather, they did not cry for anything other than humanity at large and not for a demon, no matter what that demon had become for the angel.

**4\. National Gallery, London, 2003  
**

Aziraphale was going out of the National Gallery where he had just spent a few very nice hours. He had gone there to visit the latest exhibition on Titian. He had met the painter in the 1520s. He liked looking at paintings which reminded him of people long gone. (Thanks to his angelic nature, death would not mean the last time he would see people. But his job was with the living, not with the department of those who settled in Heaven. And it would have been complicated to meet with human residents of Hell.)

He had made his way to the entrance. It was raining. He was on top of the stairs when he saw him. There. On the other side of the road from Trafalgar Square. Crowley could not see him. Aziraphale put his hand up and was about to shout his name but stopped before he could even start. No. It was the surest way to get everyone else attention. He could run after him. He took a deep breath and when he looked up again, Crowley was gone and Aziraphale was not sure which way he had gone, mixed in the middle of the London crowd.

**+1. Somewhere in rural England, a few weeks after the Apocawasn’t  
**

“Come on, angel,” Crowley said softly with that look in his eyes. He was half turned towards the field which was going downhill towards a village at the bottom of the valley. He was extending his arm towards Aziraphale, inviting him to take his hand. It was raining. They were in England after all, it was not a rare sight. Crowley had moved from the cover of the trees they had been sat under but was miraculously dry despite the falling rain. Aziraphale hesitated. He might well know that they were free to do what they wanted without any interference from Above or Below. But he still had that concern at the back of his mind, that constant reminder that someone was watching and might well not like what they saw. 6000 years of one little voice constantly expressing the same fear did not disappear, regardless of how warranted the proofs for its disappearance were.

Crowley was waiting still, calm, with a smile on his lips. He had been waiting for so long. They both had. Aziraphale took a deep breath, looked at Crowley with a smile, took his hand, one more step. And together, they walked under the rain.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this! I tried to proofread this, but also my bed is calling me and I wanted to post this before going to bed so tell me if you see anything that doesn't make sense.  
I ended up on a google and wiki rabbit hole from that one moment at the National Gallery. There was indeed an exhibition on Titian in 2003 at the National Gallery (did you know in French we say "Le Titien" as in "The Titian"? I don't know why, I should check tomorrow).  
I have never been to Aberdeen, but one of my very good friends lives there and complains about the constant rain and gloominess and I thought it would make a perfect setting.  
Also I forgot the word for bandstand in both French and English (so couldn't even find the translation) and it took like minutes to find what I was looking for because they kept showing me inflatable castles.
> 
> Once again, I hope you enjoyed this. Please leave a comment or come talk to me on tumblr @dontbesoevil. :D


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